It is a strong evidence not only of our Philosopher’s industry, but of his attachment to that institution of which he was so great an ornament, that, in the course of the twenty-six years during which he was a member of it, he could find sufficient leisure,—almost constantly employed, as he was, in important public business, and frequently bereft of health,—to contribute so many valuable papers as he did, to the too scanty stock of its published Transactions. Dr. Franklin, who was a member of the Philosophical Society, and their president, for twenty-one years, furnished them with only eight communications during that time: and Mr. Jefferson, who has nominally occupied the president’s chair[[333]] in the same Society above sixteen years, has favoured them with only two or three, within this period.
Had Dr. Rittenhouse enjoyed leisure to write, there are sufficient reasons to induce a belief, that his compositions would have been highly estimable; not solely for the subject matter of them, but for their manner also. It is true, he laboured under the privations of a liberal education: his style might therefore, perhaps, have been deficient in some of the ornamental appendages of classical learning. Nevertheless, the native energy of his mind, the clearness of his perceptions, the accuracy with which he employed his reasoning faculties,—in fine, the very extraordinary intellectual powers he displayed, when they were directed to the attainment of any species of human knowledge;—these would, doubtless, have supplied him with those beauties of language, which are usually, as well as most readily, derived from academic instruction. And in addition to all these, the sublimity of the objects which he so ardently and frequently contemplated, could scarcely fail to have communicated to his literary productions a due portion of an elevated style, when treating on subjects of a corresponding character. Dr. Rush, in noticing the address delivered by Rittenhouse before the Philosophical Society in the year 1775, observes, that “the language of this Oration is simple, but” that “the sentiments contained in it are ingenious, original, and in some instances sublime:” in another place, the learned Eulogist styles it an “eloquent performance.” It is presumed, that these characteristic features of that little work are not unaptly applied; and it will be found, on perusal, to be also strongly tinctured, throughout, with a vein of exalted piety[[334]] and universal benevolence.
Dr. Rittenhouse, by the vigour of his mind, by the transcendent powers of his genius, had surmounted the disadvantages of a defective education, as some few other great men have done; but it may be fairly inferred from the nature of things, that, had not that privation existed in the case of our Philosopher, he would have shone with a still superior lustre, not merely as a man of science, but as a literary character.[[335]]
The Writer of these Memoirs sincerely regrets, that he differs very widely, indeed, on this head, from a gentleman who has, himself, been distinguished in the literary world by his learning, as well as by his genius and science. “In speaking of Mr. Rittenhouse,” says his eloquent Eulogist, “it has been common to lament his want of what is called a liberal education.”—“Were education what it should be, in our public seminaries,” continues our ingenious Professor, “this would have been a misfortune; but conducted as it is at present, agreeably to the systems adopted in Europe in the fifteenth century, I am disposed to believe that his extensive knowledge, and splendid character, are to be ascribed chiefly to his having escaped the pernicious influence of monkish learning upon his mind, in early life. Had the usual forms of a public education in the United States been imposed upon him; instead of revolving through life in a planetary orbit, he would probably” says his Eulogist “have consumed the force of his genius by fluttering around the blaze of an evening taper: Rittenhouse the Philosopher, and one of the luminaries of the 18th century, might have spent his hours of study in composing syllogisms, or in measuring the feet of Greek and Latin poetry.” In another part of his Eulogium, (wherein he notices some fine and benevolent reflections of Dr. Rittenhouse, arising from a contemplation of particular works of nature,) Dr. Rush addresses an invocation to that distinguished class of learned men, the clergy, in terms corresponding with his sentiments just quoted:—“If such,” says he, “be the pious fruits of an attentive examination of the works of the Creator, cease, ye ministers of the gospel, to defeat the design of your benevolent labours, by interposing the common studies of the schools, between our globe and the minds of young people.”[[336]]
If, indeed, the “monkish learning” of the fifteenth century was now taught among us; if “composing syllogisms,” and “measuring the feet of Greek and Latin poetry,” were now the sole objects of scholastic instruction in this country; then might our learned Professor have anathematized, with good reason, the system of teaching in our Universities and Colleges. But it is well known, that the Aristotelian Philosophy, and what is denominated the Learning of the Schools, has been gradually declining in the European seminaries of learning, in the course of the last two centuries;[[337]] and more particularly so, in the great schools of Britain and Ireland: that the system of academic instruction, deduced from the visionary theories of the philosophers of antiquity, is there, as well as here, nearly, if not entirely exploded. It is true, the Greek and Latin tongues are yet taught with great assiduity and success, in the British Isles; as they have hitherto been, among ourselves:[[338]] and it is confidently hoped, that those languages will long continue to be cultivated with unabated zeal, in this country; whatever may be their fate on the European continent, where it is said they are rapidly declining, along with other branches of useful learning, and accompanied by an evident decay of many social refinements. Those languages are, in fact, valuable auxiliaries in the attainment of many branches of useful science, and have ever been considered the best substratum of polite learning and literary taste.
A man may, assuredly, be a profound astronomer; he may be eminently skilled in other branches of natural science, or in the doctrines of morals; he may be well versed in the polite arts; and yet may not understand either Greek or Latin. Nevertheless, an intimate and classical acquaintance with these languages cannot diminish the powers of his mind, or render him less capable of excelling in other departments of human knowledge. Bacon, Newton, Boyle, and Maclauren, with a multitude of others, the most distinguished for genius, science and learning, received an academical education; they were masters of the Greek and Latin languages; and were also instructed, without doubt, even in the formation of syllogisms:[[339]] yet these great men were not the less eminent as philosophers. It is to be presumed, that, while at their several schools and colleges, they were employed in acquiring the more solid and useful parts of learning; as well as the ornamental and polite. Both are taught in all the higher seminaries; and to the Universities of the United States, as well as of Europe, are attached Professorships[[340]] for such instruction.
The able and learned editor of “The American Review of History and Politics”[[341]] remarks, that, “for very obvious reasons it could not be expected, that Philology would be duly appreciated, or cultivated to any extent, by the American public in general. The state of society in this country, so admirable under many points of view, renders this impossible. We should not be surprised or discouraged at a general ignorance of, and an almost universal indifference about the learned languages: but this is not all; the public feeling is not confined to mere apathy: it borders on hostility. Numbers are not wanting, persons even of influence in the community, who industriously proclaim, not simply the utter insignificance, but the pernicious tendency of classical learning; and who would proscribe it as idle in itself, and as dangerous to republicanism. At the same time, our progress in this pursuit is far from being in a natural ratio with our advances in other respects. Philology is in fact, even worse than stationary among us; from what cause, whether from the influence of the extraordinary notions just mentioned, or from the absence of all external excitements, we will not now pretend to determine.”
Should these judicious remarks of the respectable Reviewer be considered as containing an indirect censure on such “persons of influence” as he may be supposed to allude to, who “proclaim” the “pernicious tendency of classical learning,”[learning,”]—it is much to be lamented by the friends of literature and science, that there should be any just grounds for its support.
Dr. Rittenhouse understood the German[[342]] and Low Dutch languages, well; and had acquired a sufficient knowledge of the French, to enable him to comprehend astronomical and other works written in that tongue. These acquisitions, it has been observed, “served the valuable purpose of conveying to him the discoveries of foreign nations, and thereby enabled him to prosecute his studies with more advantage in his native language.”[[343]]
But these were not the whole of his philological attainments. By the dint of genius, and by that spirit of perseverance which he manifested in every thing he undertook, he overcame in a great degree the difficulties of the Latin tongue.[[344]] This he did for the same valuable purpose that he had in view, in learning the German, Low Dutch and French.